


Schwanger

by i do (makkachincrossing)



Category: A Cure For Wellness (2016)
Genre: Belly Kink, Childbirth, Forced Pregnancy, Gen, Masturbation, Mpreg, Multi, Other, Pregnancy, Pregnancy Kink, Voyeurism, birth kink, graphic birth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-13
Packaged: 2021-01-27 16:47:28
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 8
Words: 5,709
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21395425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/makkachincrossing/pseuds/i%20do
Summary: Uhr 10:The pain was growing overwhelming.Lockhart paced the room, hands moving from his hips, to his lower back, to his stomach, to try and alleviate the pain of closer, more intense contractions.When he threw his head back to moan in pain, their eyes were watching him.He was a caged animal in the most delicate moment of his life with no hope, only an audience.There was no escape.
Comments: 1
Kudos: 62





	1. Woche 1

**Author's Note:**

> It's NaNoWriMo. In the middle of writing my novel this year, I watched this film and I needed to write this immediately. Apparently I needed to work some things out for myself that absolutely cannot be in a published novel. At least, one that I write.
> 
> Disclaimer: I have only seen this movie twice now. Sorry for any discrepancies.

_“I worry about you, the amount of work you force upon yourself…” _

_ “Mom, it’s seriously not a big deal. It’s a good job, you’ll never have to lift a finger again in your life if you don’t want to.”_

_ She stayed silent, looking away from him and out the window to the busy street. It was the view she’d seen outside since it was just her and her son, when she had to give up their fine Manhattan apartment for this. Old houses built in the 20’s, cookie cutters and made of cheap brick, less than a foot between them. Pieces of shit lined up in a neat row, and they were stuck in a matching one. _

_ “You’re not happy. I can tell. You don’t look well.”_

_ “I’m fine,” Lockhart insisted dryly. What he wouldn’t do for a fucking cigarette. Conversations with his mother made his mind hurt and stomach ache, made his pulse pound in his ears. _

_ “You’re the brightest spot in my life. When I knew I was pregnant with you, I knew that my life would be more wonderful than it ever could have been without.” _

_ “Mom…” he sighed, hand curling into a fist on the table. If a cigarette was resting between his middle and forefinger, he wouldn’t be feeling this way. He knew exactly where the conversation was going. _

_ “I just think that if you took some time, met a nice girl and settled down, maybe things would be wonderful for you, too.” her wrinkled lips turned up into a smile. _

_ “I don’t have time to meet anyone,” he stood and took his empty coffee cup with him to rinse in the sink. He was well aquatinted with it, the nights that after dinner he stood washing dishes over it, watching children play in the street before dark, and then sneaky drug deals happen after the sun went down. He washed his mug and placed it in the caddy to dry.He was determined to give her the life of fine things she had before his father pitched himself into the Hudson. _

_ “I’ve got to go,” he leaned over to kiss her head, her soft grey hair that just barely retained its brassy yellowness. “I love you.” _

_ “I love you too, dear… take care.” _

_Woche 1_

What a fucking weird thing to remember…

Lockhart opened his eyes and blinked at the mint green ceiling. It appeared to be well after dark, not a sound to be heard except the soft movement of people outside the cracked window of his room. Patients still up after dark in the early still-warm autumn evening, having one last glass of water before they, too, went to sleep for the night.

He tried to sit up himself, but winced, grunted, and fell back down against the pillows as he clutched his abdomen. The procedure…

He’d been told by Dr. Volmer that the next step in his treatment was minor surgery, a treatment to remove toxins that had built up in his intestines and colon from lack of pure water and too much stress after Lockhart had complained of gastrointestinal issues to him. Occasional constipation was something that he had just grown to accept as a part of his life, it wasn’t a big deal. Dr. Volmer said it was, in fact, a big deal contrary to what Lockhart wanted to believe.

The the minor surgery would be tacked on to the run of his treatments. It was fine, whatever. He had nowhere else to go, anyway. He’d rather stay. There was no reason to leave when they were making him well, more well than he had ever been.

But it was weird to think about that night at his childhood home when he hadn’t thought about it for years.He hadn’t really even thought about his mother since he arrived at the facility, and not having to deal with grieving for her had been a relief. He’d never felt so relaxed, so content in his life, like nothing in the world mattered except making himself feel good, letting the cure work its way through his body, mind and soul.

Carefully, Lockhart sat up and sipped at the glass of water on his night table, mindful of the pain between his hips, and let himself fall back into sleep. This time, blissfully dreamless.


	2. Woche 3

“How have you been healing? Any concerns?” Dr. Heinrich Volmer asked as Lockhart eased back onto the exam table, mindful of the cast on his leg. The doctor helped his bad leg up and assisted him into a comfortable position.

“Feels okay to me,” he said, relaxing as the doctor lifted his shirt and carefully untied his white linen scrubs. Lockhart watched the mirror above the exam bed. The stitches there, under his naval, were no longer angry and red. “Some blood in the toilet after I shit.”

“That sounds normal after the procedure we performed.” Volmer, with upmost care, removed the dark stitches in his skin. Lockhart winced just a little at the discomfort. “Now,” the doctor said as he worked, “there will be a little change to your treatments, but nothing too different.”

“Okay. You’re the expert, I guess,” he said, feeling relaxed.

“But I would like you to send urine samples more often to me, every night, to make sure you are properly hydrated as you heal.”

Lockhart couldn’t help but chuckle. “Doc, That’s all I fucking do; drink water.”

“It is particularly important now,” he said as he leaned close enough for Lockhart to smell his breath. Peppermint and asshole, a nice combonation. Lockhart wrinkled his nose. “Well, Mr. Lockhart, I will leave you to your treatments. If you have any problems, let me know right away.”

“Sure thing,” he sat up and swung his casted leg over the side of the exam bed, and then the other.

Volmer smiled at him, marking in Lockhart’s file with a black pen. “Have a good day, Mr. Lockhart. I will see you again very soon.”


	3. Woche 6

Weeks past, days came and went with the sun. He soaked in the waters, drank the waters, swam, bathed and lived the waters.

Everything was the same as usual, but instead of doing crossword puzzles or reading books between his treatments, he found himself falling asleep in his bed multiple times a day. And his stomach problems were back, though different than before, and worse. Nausea overtook him in strange waves and sent him hobbling to the toilet to vomit. A nurse found him one afternoon when she came to change his sheets and refill his water pitcher. With a smile, she promised she would fetch the doctor.

Heinrich Volmer came quickly and simply rubbed his back and gave him a glass of water to sip. “This is a good sign,” he promised Lockhart as he retched into the toilet again. “Your urine tests confirmed everything is going well. Keep hydrated, and keep resting.”

Lockhart trusted him, and didn’t doubt a word he said. Even in sickness, he felt blissfully calm. The cure was building inside of him, he would be well enough again soon enough.


	4. Woche 12

As his vomiting went away and his symptoms eased, the snows came. The Swiss alps grew colder and colder, and his abdomen began to swell. He first noticed as he changed his shirt one morning after sleep, that the normal medium that he usually wore had grown tight around his middle.

In the bathroom mirror, he caught a glimpse of his reflection. The same blue eyes, chestnut hair that had grown long over his stay at the sanitarium, and his belly was protruding softly under his naval where it used to be flat and firm. He ran a careful hand over the swell and pressed into it with two fingers. It wasn’t an illusion.

It looked almost like his stomach did after he was given the water transfusion, eels wriggling in his insides before they died in his stomach acid and were digested. But this time, it was lower, in his abdomen, and firmer to the touch. It didn’t hurt in the slightest like being forced to ingest the waters. On the contrary, it felt warm under his hand, almost comforting.

With a small smile, he pulled his soft pants back on and shuffled back to bed, he scribbled a note for the nurse to bring him larger shirts when she came to fill his water pitcher. He would surely be asleep when she came by.


	5. Woche 20

As his stomach swelled larger, his appetite became unsatable. It seemed that as much as Lockhart slept, he ate. It didn’t help that there were three square meals a day at the sanitarium, and he could eat all that he ever desired, and he did. Prime rib, roast chicken, strudel, cakes, tarts, breads… it was absolutely endless. He wouldn’t ever stop eating if he didn’t become so tired doing so.

“Well, it seems that you have been happier than even your usual, Mr Lockhart,” Dr Volmer said as Lockhart settled back into the exam bed. His cast had since been removed, a reward for his cooperation and calmness. Despite everything, he’d become a good patient.

“I guess sleeping, eating, and not worrying about anything really is the key to happiness and health,” Lockhart smiled, relaxing, as Dr. Volmer lifted his shirt and pushed his pants down just enough to reveal the swollen mound of his stomach. “This is kind of weird though, isn’t it?”

Volmer smoothed his cool hand over his swollen middle, gently pushing his fingers into it to feel what may be underneath. He jotted something into his file and placed it down on the table beside the exam bed. “In what way?” The doctor picked up a horn looking thing from a drawer, something that a doctor from long ago would wield before technology.

“If I was getting fat from eating and sleeping all day, wouldn’t I be getting fat all over?” Lockhart asked, then smirked back a laugh as the horn was pressed to his round middle. The doctor crouched to place his ear on the other side. “My face and arms and ass and stuff?”

“Ssh.”

As the room fell into silence, Lockhart let his mind and eyes wander. Volmer moved the horn over different parts of his belly. The side, under his naval, up, down, right and left, silently listening. Lockhart turned his head to look at the file, left to drape open at his side. He couldn’t read much of the German, but the bottom of his chart caught his eye.

_12.01.2017_

_Schwanger, 20 Wo._

“What’s that mean?” Lockhart broke the silence and Volmer moved to stand, removing the horn from his swollen stomach. “Schwanger?”

“That means that you’re doing well, and your body is taking your treatment perfectly,” Volmer said as he took Lockhart’s blood pressure. “Keep doing everything you’re doing.”

“Except eat so much?” He smirked. The combination of the cold stethoscope on the crook of his arm and the squeezing of the cuff nearly tickled. Joy was spilling out of him. How had he ever lived another way?

“No, keep eating your fill. There’s plenty. Food will never run out for you,” he smiled in return.

Lockhart was excused, and he made his way down the seemingly endless halls, hands spread over his large, round middle. He swore to himself he could feel something moving deep inside.

While picking up the new daily crossword and sudoku puzzle in the library, Lockhart made his way to the spattering of German translation dictionaries. He selected a recent edition Cambridge German to English dictionary and navigated to the Sc section. He found the word he was looking for.

_Schwanger. adj. _

_Pregnant._


	6. Woche 30

The baby inside of him moved nearly endlessly now, kicking and rolling hard enough for Lockhart to grunt in discomfort and rub over the movement in an attempt to soothe her. Before and after sleep, he would lay on his side in bed with his swollen stomach resting on a pillow, watching life bloom under his skin, inside his new uterus. When feeling particularly energetic after a meal, the baby would roll or shift to the side, causing his belly to change shape rapidly from a perfect sphere, moving like something inhuman was inside.

It was fascinating, and he couldn’t help but rub over the movement endlessly, letting his fingertips press into the mound of his pregnancy to feel places that were soft, and then places that were firm with her tiny body. He recognized hands and feet. When she kicked up at his touch, he would try and pinch her little limbs and she would quickly, playfully, tug them away.

His treatments were changing just as rapidly as his middle grew larger and larger. Wires would be stuck on his bulging middle, sensors strapped to it, and then he was told to walk on a treadmill or float in the sensory deprivation tank with no clothes, several people watching him as they took notes in their own files, every movement meticulously recorded.

It was lonely though he was surrounded by so many people, but he had his baby, and his baby had him.

He found himself thinking back to his time at the firm, when Hank Green’s secretary had become pregnant. She grew larger every day, belly and tits, and wore tight little pencil skirts that didn’t leave anything to the imagination about the shape or size of her condition. It made Lockhart harder than a diamond under his desk every time she waddled by.

Now, he could stand in front of his own vanity mirror and take in his own gigantic, swollen pregnancy to indulge himself as much as he damn well pleased. He sat on the edge of the bed, legs spread, and groped at his stomach and dick. The baby inside kicked and squirmed, coaxing moans out of him with every movement. He gripped and rubbed his abdomen as he tugged at his cock, willing her to move inside his womb. More.

Lockhart tugged at his popped naval, his tender nipples, groped the globe of his growing pregnancy, until he came with a gasping moan, his cum pumping out over his legs, bed and belly.

He would lay in bed afterwards as both him and the baby calmed, thinking about how he’d never been so blissfully happy in his entire life.


	7. Woche 37

“Just relax, Mr Lockhart. We simply need to run a few tests,” Volmer told him, squeezing his shoulder.

Lockhart nodded in return, though relaxing wasn’t something he was good at strapped down in his current position. He was naked, legs spread wide and up in stirrups, his cock, balls and asshole exposed to everyone who had gathered to watch the examination. With his successful uterine transplant, he knew he was an anomaly, but he wished that would come with a certain amount of privacy too.

An IV had been inserted into his arm, pumping water into him to keep him hydrated. Heart monitor patches had been stuck on his own chest, and over his enormous pregnant bump. His and the baby’s hearts beat together on the heart monitor beside the bed, hers beating a little quicker. The surrounding doctors were murmuring in German, looking between his thighs and prodding at his asshole. At every barely-there touch, he gasped.

“We will now begin, Mr Lockhart,” Volmer said. There was a sound of something metallic behind his spherical stomach. He barely had time to think before something cold was inserted into his asshole, and then came the impossible, mind-numbing sting.

He screamed, voice echoing around the chamber. He couldn’t move away from the pain, now understanding the point of being bolted to the bed. His pulse was quickly becoming faster than the baby’s, hers still fairly calm.The pain radiated upward as the instrument dove deeper behind his tailbone, under his abdomen. Lockhart screamed for help, though he knew none would come.

Volmer hummed as the nurse spread the speculum apart, forcing a cavernous opening that he could see inside. With a small flashlight, he took a look inside. Everything was bright red and healthy, and he could see the cervix, also in pristine condition where they had sewn it to his rectum. It was starting to thin and was dilating, though just a couple of centimeters at most.

The concern was that the opening in his pelvis would not be large enough for the baby to pass through. He extended a hand to an assisting nurse, and she rolled a latex glove onto his arm, up to the elbow.

He crouched and reached inside, rewarded by a high pitched wail from his patient as he reached deeper and deeper, fingers touching the sides of rectum as he went. He could feel the pelvic opening, and it was large enough for his hand, and as he curled his fingers into his palm, his fist. Hopefully that would be large enough for the baby’s head and shoulders.

“WHAT IN THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?!” Lockhart screamed, voice echoing as the scratching of pens against paper increased, and the heart monitor beeped faster, for the baby and her mother. Volmer pressed his opposite hand into the taut skin of his stomach, groping to find the head inside roughly.

“DON’T!” Lockhart’s voice radiated through the chamber, ringing in every ear it contacted. “DON’T HURT HER!” He could feel the baby thrashing under his skin at the hard touch, the unwelcome intrusion into her safe world, where she swam by herself and consumed what her mother ate, sometimes accompanied by gentle touches.

Not this. Never like this.

_“Es ist heir,”_ Heinrich Volmer gripped baby’s head through skin, muscle and the uterine wall, and beckoned a nurse over with one hand. The nurse laid the measuring tape between the doctor’s fingers. Another nurse took down the measurement, and the doctor released the baby and withdrew his hand.

With tears of torture and fear running down Lockhart’s temples, Volmer smiled at him. “Good news, it seems like you will be able to have a natural delivery after all.”

“You could have fucking killed her, grabbing her like that!” He yelled, straining and tugging against his restraints.

“I’m a professional, Mr Lockhart. I would have done no such thing to your child,” he smiled wider, and they pulled the speculum out of Lockhart. The patient grunted and shivered at the feeling. Stinging remained, and he felt the faint trickle of what could only be blood. “You are two centimeters dilated, so I expect your labor to come within a week or so. Keep resting and—“

“Drink plenty of water?” Lockhart asked bitterly. As soon as he was freed of his wrist restraints, his arms shot down to hold his belly protectively.

“Yes,” Volmer said, removing his glove with a snap. “Drink plenty of water.”


	8. Woche 41

_Uhr 7_

Since that day, it seemed he rarely had a moment alone.

Lockhart had his meals brought to him in bed. When he fell asleep, and when he woke up, there was someone sitting at the foot of the bed, watching him. Always asking him how he felt, if he felt any soreness, any contractions.

He lied as long as he could that no, he had no symptoms of impending labor, that he hadn’t been feeling twinges of pain under his tailbone and in his abdomen, that they hadn’t steadily been getting stronger since the night before. Laying in bed, being watched by nurses, all he could do was curl around his baby, holding his sore stomach, silently begging her to stay inside where he could keep her safe. The world, the sanitarium, wasn’t as peaceful and perfect as he came to believe here, he learned that again a few short weeks ago.

It was an uncharacteristically warm spring afternoon when he could no longer lie, when a groan of pain escaped his clenched teeth as a contraction radiated from his tailbone and over every nerve in his body.

“A contraction, Mr. Lockhart?” The nurse asked with an unsettling curve in her lips.When he didn’t answer and curled into himself tighter, she stood from her chair. “I’ll fetch Dr. Volmer.”

“N-no!” he gasped, watching as she rushed out the door. Fuck. Fuck! He had to leave. He had to get out of here while he had this solitary moment alone for the first time in weeks. Lockhart sat up with difficulty and pushed himself to stand, nearly stumbling as he did so. The baby had shifted so her weight rested entirely between his hips, on his pelvis, throwing his entire center of gravity off. He wasn’t sure he could even take a step without falling, let alone run for help.

Lockhart couldn’t even finish his thought before the nurse returned with a wheelchair, and Dr Volmer himself.He smiled in that cruel way that gave Lockhart chills. “Are you going somewhere, Mr Lockhart?”

He shook his head like a guilty child. “I- it feels better standing…” and it did, just a little. The pain had ebbed away and the baby’s weight on his cervix seemed to relive some of the leftover aching from the contraction.

“I see. Well, let’s get you to the delivery room. We have it all set up for you, and you don’t have to worry about anything.”

Lockhart had a feeling all he would do is worry.

_Uhr 8_

The delivery room was indeed set up. A circular room, ones of which he had only seen in movies previously. An operating theatre.

The tile covered room lay below the observation seating above and separated the spectators by glass. He could see the seating filling up already with people in white coats, those who he had seen around the sanitarium, and those he had not. Visitors, perhaps, that had come specifically for the show. In the middle of his tiled room was the exam bed with stirrups that he was all-too familiar with. He gripped his pregnant middle protectively at the sight.

“Don’t be afraid, it’s just me and you here, Mr. Lockhart,” Volmer said as he entered the room from the steel door and firmly bolted it shut behind him.

“Give me one good fucking reason why I shouldn’t be afraid.” He glared at him, choking on his words as a contraction began to build again.

“Concentrate on your breathing, like we practiced,” the doctor approached him as Lockhart leaned against the cool tile wall. He tensed as the doctor reached out and grabbed his hips, but as he pressed down on Lockhart’s hips, the pain seemed to lessen. Try as he might to breathe, it felt like every breath was dragging him closer and closer to a panic attack. Volmer seemed to notice this. “I can only help you if you follow my instructions.”

“That’s funny, because I wouldn’t even be going through this if this wasn’t for you, you fucking sick bastard,” Lockhart hissed through his clenched teeth, fighting through the pain. “Is this your idea of a fucking joke? Implanting a uterus into a man and seeing what he does?”

“I do find it humorous that you think you’re so special that you’re the first,” Volmer murmured, digging his fingers angrily into Lockhart’s hip bones. “I’ve implanted uteruses into men that ended in failure, and those that have gone on to mensturate normally. Though I’ve never been able to have a man carry a fetus to term before.” Lockhart recoiled, Volmer so close that he could smell the putrid heat of his breath. He was whispering now. “You could help women who have lost their ability to have children due to disease, transsexual women. Together we can make life better for people who want this.”

“You don’t want to help anyone but yourself,” Lockhart grunted through his teeth. “This is all for your own sick amusement. Yours, and your batshit crazy friends up there,” he thrust a finger at the theatre seating above.

“Yes, and I opened a resource for healing people from around the world because I’m that selfish,” he released Lockhart roughly, leaving him leaning against the wall. The baby squirmed under her mother’s hands, ready to be born and have more room to move than his uterus could give her, against her better judgement. “Come,” Volmer told him, gesturing to the bed. “I want to check your dilation.”

Lockhart had no choice but to follow.

_Uhr 10_

The pain was growing overwhelming.

Lockhart paced the room, hands moving from his hips, to his lower back, to his stomach, to try and alleviate the pain of closer, more intense contractions.

When he threw his head back to moan in pain, their eyes were watching him.

He was a caged animal in the most delicate moments of his life with no hope, only an audience.

There was no escape.

_Uhr 12_

Lockhart found himself losing the strength to walk any longer, and collapsed back onto the exam bed, exhausted to his core. The pain wouldn’t stop, and there was no longer a beginning or an end to his contractions. There was a deep, primal desire inside of him to push, but he let Volmer strap his calves back into the stirrups to, again, check his dilation.

He thought of his mother, and the pain she went through to give him life. He should have appreciated her more, told her how much he loved her every single day.

“You’re fully dilated, Mr. Lockhart,” Volmer looked over his belly at him, placing a hand on top of it. “With your next contraction, I want you to push as hard as you can.”

Lockhart took a trembling inhale and bared down as hard as he could. He felt himself opening, spreading, around his baby’s head.

His screaming echoed around the chamber, making his audience grin.

_Uhr 13_

“Please…” Lockhart begged, “please fucking kill me…”

He had been pushing with no progress for an hour, and not even his water had broken. He was helpless, sweating so profusely he was soaking the sheets beneath him. The doctor seemed to be quite pleased with the fact, and had even put a saucer under the bed to catch stray drips. A basin lay on the floor under his hips and the delivery bed, waiting to catch the amniotic fluids that would spill forth.

Even though it felt like it would never happen at this point.

Heinrich Volmer was watching him with nothing but ice in his eyes. “You cannot die. I won’t let you,” he rolled up his sleeves, reaching for exam gloves. “But, perhaps, the opening in your pelvis is not as large as I had previously assumed. The baby could have also grown quite a bit more in these last four weeks.”

“So you admit it,” Lockhart said, fighting to keep conscious, trying his hardest to keep his eyes focused. “You made a mistake.”

“There are no mistakes in experiments, Mr. Lockhart. That’s why there are experiments, so we can know what to expect in future cases.”

“I never consented to this,” Lockhart squeezed his eyes shut as another contraction squeezed his entire body, belly visibly tensing with the effort to push the baby down the birth canal.

“You told me to do whatever it takes to make you well,” he put down his clip board. “I believe your mother told you once that a child would make your life better, did she not? It seems she always believed you made hers better.”

Lockhart would have fought back, told him not to even think about his mother with this twisted brain, if he wasn’t preoccupied with the stinging pain flushing through his body. He pushed against it with all his strength, though there was very little left. His thighs trembled and tears leaked down his face, glistening with perspiration.

He was going to die here, him and his baby.

“It’s time for a little intervention, Mr.Lockhart,” he heard Volmer say.

He forced his eyes open, the world blurred into something unreal, as if nothing existed beyond pain. “Don’t… don’t you fucking touch me…” he murmured. He tried to move his arms, tried to push himself away, but he was strapped to the stirrups with leather belts. He didn’t have the strength anyway.

As if he didn’t hear him, or didn’t even give him a moment of consideration, Volmer pushed his hand inside Lockhart’s puckered asshole.

At the sound of the primal, blood curdling scream, a few doctors rose to their feet above the observation chamber to get a better look, trying to get the best angle to see Dr Volmer’s hand and wrist force their way up deeper into the young patient. One nurse didn’t even try and hide his arousal, sitting in the second to last row. Even with his less than perfect view, he pulled his erection out of his scrubs, spit into his hand, and began to pump himself furiously.

“DON’T TOUCH HER!” Lockhart could hear himself scream, voice hoarse from effort and fatigue. He could feel himself slipping away, and he could do nothing to protect himself, or his daughter from the horror that was their reality. The stinging was unbearable, like his hips and tailbone were being split apart like a raw chicken being cracked open for deboning. Absolute, undeniable torture. He was scared of death, but it would be better than this.

Lockhart’s eyes flew open as, suddenly, the stinging ceased. Volmer removed his hand from his cavity, and a gush of fluid poured out of him and into the basin below. Liquid relief. Lockhart couldn’t help but moan at the feeling, chest heaving as cool air felt a little comforting again.

“That should speed things up,” The doctor said, unconcerned. He jotted something down on his chart. The observing crowd above had gotten closer to the glass, some with their faces pressed up against it, breaths steaming the clear pane, like they were looking at an animal in a zoo.

But, as promised, progress had become inevitable. He felt the head lowering, stretching him apart, twisting her body inside him as she made her way closer to the world.

She was coming.

_Uhr 14 _

The smallest slit of bloody, black hair could be seen through the patient’s bulging entrance.

The anus wasn’t meant to accommodate something as large as a fetus, but could it? The elasticity of it was quite impressive, but would it sustain existing damage? Would it be reparable?

Volmer fingered the ring of muscle, the firmness of the baby’s head. No, it wasn’t meant for this task like the vagina, but it still could be suitable for it. It wasn’t impossible, at least.

“Don’t touch her,” Lockhart growled, his belly leaping with every gasp he took.

“I don’t believe you’re in the position to tell me what I can and cannot do.”

“She’s my daughter,” Lockhart threw his head back and yelled as he pushed again with another contraction.

All he did was carry the fetus, really. The female sex organs had belonged to another woman, and the fertilized egg implanted had been made by another man and woman. Nothing about the baby was his, but he kept the thought to himself as he watched more of the head bloom forth.

It shined with blood and fluid, and the size of it, expectedly, split Lockhart’s skin up his taint and down to nearly his tailbone. “You’re crowning, Mr Lockhart,” Heinrich Volmer said, wiping away the blood with a rag so the audience could see the progress. Blood immediately built up along the gashes and dripped toward the floor. Volmer toed the basin of water away so as to not contaminate it. 

“I- is she… is she alright…?” Lockhart turned his head on its prop, trying to see between his thighs. It was the most sick, the most unwell he had ever felt, like every treatment he had taken since August never happened at all. Death seemed like the only way out.

“Yes, she is fine. Heart rate normal,” the doctor said, swirling a finger just under the torn ring of muscle, letting his knuckle stroke the baby’s head. “If you push very hard with the next contraction, her head should be freed.”

Progress. Finally, progress. Anything at this point was so sweet, he craved it. Lockhart obeyed, and pushed. He yelled with every ounce of strength he could muster. The doctor watched as the white around Lockhart’s blue iris bloomed bright red. A blood vessel irrupted in Lockhart’s eye, and the baby’s head burst forth from his body in a dramatic gush of fluid over Volmer’s shoes.

In response to the shock and force, the baby took a wailing breath and began to cry, lungs awakening prematurely. Lockhart lifted his head, ears ringing with the sound as it filled his nerves, his soul. His baby. His girl. She was alive, crying at the shock of the cold world she was about to enter between his thighs.

One more, he told himself. One more, and this hell they had to endure together would be over. Lockhart gave one final push, voice erupting from his chest and throat.

Volmer pulled her shoulders out, and her wet body landed in his hands. In a moment of weakness, seeing the look in the young man’s eyes, he placed the wailing baby on Lockhart’s bare chest. Just another part of the experiment, the doctor told himself, to see if a male mother would be able to bond with a child that he had carried, but had not produced the egg, sperm or uterus in which to do so.

“I’ve got you,” Lockhart said breathlessly, gathering the slick, warm baby close to his chest, trying to be mindful of the cord that still connected them. “Ssh… I’ve got you. Mom’s here…”

Well… that answered that question. Volmer turned to grab a clean, white towel to drape over the newborn while they waited for the placenta to deliver.

And in a few weeks, they would begin again. 

Lockhart looked down at his newborn daughter cradled in his arms just as her impossibly long eyelashes fluttered open to reveal her ice blue eyes.

The eel hatchling on her eyeball darted down the tear duct, fleeing for darkness.

_Für immer_


End file.
